Obsession
by LadyKappa
Summary: Being a Pureblood Slytherin witch ain't easy sometimes. Daphne Greengrass has to fight her inner desires and conform to the norm of her society, but will she? Pureblood wizard society AU no Voldemort! , set roughly in DH times. DG/DM.


**Story Title: **Obsession  
**Chapter 01:** It's My Life  
**Author: **Darchangel  
**Beta reader:** Koori No Kisaki  
**Character: **Daphne Greengrass  
**Prompt: **_One Last Dinner _for the 7spells community at Livejournal  
**Pairings: **None yet, but there will be. ;)  
**Rating: **PG**  
Chapter Summary: **Her family has already planned her future for her, but she begs to differ.

**Author's Notes**

I am not really following canon in this story Daphne (and subsequently Draco and all other canon characters of the same year) is 17 years old, but Lucius is free, Draco is still his obnoxious self, and the return of Voldemort is just not important. For the sake of the plot let's say OotP&HBP have not happened… or something. We deal with happenings in the elite pureblood wizarding society, and assume that it is a time of peace and prosperity. Thank you, and enjoy. XD

* * *

The lavish dining room was candlelit and silent; only the occasional clang of silverware against expensive china broke the heavy atmosphere as the Greengrass family ate their dinner. Manners and elegance above all is what mattered; the little gestures one made at the dinner table were enough for one to be scrutinized about what one thought or how focused one was. 

The youngest daughter, Daphne, sat near the end of the table, eating her favourite roast with small elegant movements—even though her thoughts were elsewhere, on poetry and lonely nights and inspiration that comes with a light summer breeze... She wanted to go back to her room and resume with her poetry collections, or play her violin in the night.

Maybe her sister Eve would like to hear her play—she missed her at times like these when the family gathered in silence and there was no escape from prying eyes and uncomfortable questions and discussions. But her sister's frail body had not enough strength to move about the house, so she remained in her room almost always, lying upon her bed, waiting for Daphne to come and read stories and poems about wonderful feelings she may never feel.

Daphne smiled slightly at the thought of her sister, and her face brightened up almost imperceptibly. A girl of 17 years, Daphne was tall, slim and fair, with blond hair that fell a little above her shoulders and eyes as blue as the waves that crashed beneath her feet at the lonely beach in Ireland, near her grandparents' manor in Ireland. The Greengrasses were long known and respected pureblood Slytherins, generation upon generation. The wealth and prestige had taken long to build, and Augustus Greengrass, Daphne's father, made sure that it could be continued for as long as possible.

"What is going through your mind, young lady?" a stern voice said, and Daphne looked up from her dinner to meet the keen eyes of her father.

Augustus Greengrass had a face and a posture that left no doubt that he was an authoritative and powerful man that demanded attention and respect. A heavy grey mustache adorned a wide, austere-looking face, and his grey mane was kept short but long enough to suggest that this man would be losing no hair anytime soon. Despite his age, his eyes glinted with the sharp wit and cunning of an experienced and watchful hawk that protected his territory and possessions. The rest of the family sitting at the table, his wife, his eldest daughter Constance with her husband and son, and two of his three youngest daughters, feared him almost as much as his enemies in business and politics. No—in fact, they feared him much more than that.

"Nothing, father," said Daphne, careful of the tone in her voice—not too apologetic, and not too careless either. She wasn't thinking about anything dangerous anyway.

"Your eyes seem to disagree with your mouth," her father answered strictly, not taking his eyes off his meal. "I'd say your mind is going astray, and that is something unacceptable. You must remain focused upon things that matter; your education, your future, your family."

"But I _was_ thinking of my family," Daphne protested. "It was Eve's face that crossed my mind momentarily." She had put down her silverware and was looking at her father who sat at the head of the long, heavy oak table with eyes wide and worried. How dare he reign in her thoughts and feelings?

"Then that is hardly '_nothing'_, is it? It is most inappropriate to lie to me, young lady," he said with a resonating voice, which made the entire family look up in shock and embarrassment. "Do not attempt to play arrogant with me."

"I'm not being arrogant!" Daphne cried, her voice wavering.

"Then learn your place and think of nothing but important things!" said her father, echoing in words spoken far too many times to be remembered. "I shall not have you waste your life with things that won't get you anywhere," he added with a soft murmur, as if to himself. The rest of the family went back to their plates, pretending to mind their own business while their minds were racing.

This pretentiousness was what bothered Daphne. It wasn't that she didn't understand her father, or that she wanted to disobey him; but it was virtually impossible to keep a human mind from thinking, even if one tried to control his own self. Then why this sense of obligation? Why does everything have to be controlled?

She said nothing though. She resumed her dinner, looking remorseful and not to the direction of her father; she knew exactly what she would see if she did look—he would be eating his roast with movements as small as his big hands allowed, looking around the table (but perhaps not at her) with the kind of pride one has when everything is going according to his plans, his calculations, his expectations. He wanted everything to be perfect for his own pleasure and only.

For a while the table was silent once more, as the family continued their dinner, approaching desert.

"Delilah," said Augustus addressing his second daughter, forking a piece of roast and looking mildly interested, "how are things with your enterprise in Diagon Alley?"

Of the four Greengrass daughters, Delilah was the sharpest one when it came to business, profit, and money. From her love of expensive gowns and dress robes she drew the will and the quick wit necessary to run a business—especially a business that dealt with all sorts of wizards that could afford the fine clothing she created. Her sharp mind kept her at the top of the trade market; most, if not all of the rich and pureblood families in England would only trust Delilah Greengrass with their detailed and nitpicking requests for their wardrobe, and she never failed to satisfy one single customer. Daphne admired her for her skill, and always had a secret wish to work in her sister's so-called "enterprise"—having a love for beautiful gowns as well, she felt like she could really excel in the business her sister had brought forth with her own abilities. But alas: her future, as well as everyone's future in this family, had been determined years before, ere Daphne could actually think and decide for herself.

"Oh, the shop is doing lovely, father," replied Delilah with a voice filled with pride—the kind of pride you find in snobbish, ill-mannered people who think only about themselves and care for nothing but their own profit. "The Malfoys' forthcoming ball has brought quite a lot of customers, and I'm delighted to say that they're all of our kind. I'd hate to have to put my hands on another Mudblood or a Halfblood like those who come there and then; I'd avoid it completely if I could have it."

"But since they are customers as well you do not have a say in who will request your services," said Augustus in a reprimanding tone. "If they pay their bills to you like they should then personal beliefs are not a part of your work. They should stay in the house along with all your thoughts and problems. When at work, you should think about ways to make it and yourself grow, more and more each day."

"Yes father... I know."

"I am very glad you do," Augustus said contently. "I trust that the Malfoys' ball will be a success. And our Daphne will be a star among their guests as Draco Malfoy's future bride."

Daphne's face cringed almost instantly at the sound of those words; oh, how she hated to be called that every now and then! Lately it was more often than usual, and that made her angry at herself for not standing up for herself and defending her right to a life chosen by none other than herself.

"I don't understand your expression, Daphne," said Constance, her eldest sister and lifelong rival for reasons unknown even to her. "Why do you cringe at the sound of the name of your future husband?"

Daphne stared at her sister, something she never dared to do with her father's presence but now Constance had drawn it too far. "Draco Malfoy is _not_ my fiancée," she said firmly, not breaking eye-contact with her sister. "I refuse to marry someone who has all but hated me for my entire life—and I have hated him too."

"Mere childhood rivalries," said her father almost chuckling, a faint smile curling his thick mustache upwards. "You will find that Draco Malfoy is the finest young man of your generation that you could possibly marry, and you will thank us for making this arrangement so many years ago."

"Father, I don't want to live a life that you chose for me," Daphne said earnestly, trying to make her austere father listen to her for once; for even though the blond girl was infinitely clever and could win any argument over with her exceptional use of logic, Augustus Greengrass left her as much room to breathe as a sardine has in a tin can along with countless others of the same kind. She often felt like a mere object that her father pushed around at will; and the saddest part of it was, she wasn't the only Greengrass to be pushed around in that fashion.

"You do not understand what is best for you," her father said authoritatively, leaving no room for discussion, "and I cannot allow you to waste your future based on some teenage whim of the moment. And I do not allow that tone of voice in my house—you will not address me with that tone ever again. Am I making myself clear?"

Daphne remained silent, not because she was at a loss for words but because she couldn't understand what her father demanded of her. What tone of voice was forbidden? Why? Just now she did nothing that would be reprimanded under any circumstances in the Greengrass household: what could possibly wrong with voicing an opinion on a matter that directly concerns and affects one's life?

"I do not appreciate your attitude," said Augustus as he put down his knife and fork. "I demand respect towards me and your mother—but me especially. Augustus Greengrass does not tolerate the insolent remarks of an ignorant child! Not on any day!"

"But Father, I—"

"You dare talk back? Have I not just made myself clear on the matter?"

"It is _my_ life, Father—"

"Oh, yours it is no doubt, but the margins of it have been made clear for you and for everyone else. You are to marry young Mr. Malfoy as soon as you both turn eighteen—and that has been arranged for years now. No one will break this arrangement, for it has been sealed."

"Sealed! My future is sealed! Father I can't—"

"Do not refuse to obey or my patience will be no more!" cried Augustus with a voice that resounded across the long and brightly lit dining hall with a reverberating echo. Five people widened their eyes in shock but dared not look at either Augustus or Daphne. The young girl had stood up, fists curled in anger and frustration.

"It is _my_ life and I refuse to spend it with a man I have hated forever!" she cried, tears on the verge of spilling on her beautiful face, now contorted. With that she pushed her chair aside and stormed out of the hall, passing by the entire family but not looking into anyone's eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the wide marble staircase that led from the foyer at the end of the dining hall to the floors of the manor upstairs—and to her bedroom and her sanctuary from everything that threatened her peace of mind and her dreams.

Shutting the door of her room and applying almost a dozen spells to keep it locked against all possible curses and hexes, Daphne threw herself upon her bed, sobbing loudly in the comforting silence of her favourite place in the house, her own little haven. How could they choose what her life would be like? Why is all this control necessary for anyone?

There was knocking on her door a few minutes later—no, it was _pounding; _someone was banging on her door real hard. She kept ignoring whoever it was; she knew she was in trouble for showing such unacceptable behaviour, but she regretted none of the words she said. More than two or maybe three voices hissed, shouted or spoke angry words from the other side of the magically locked door: her sister Constance, her husband Derek and perhaps even her mother, but she couldn't make it out for sure. They were all wasting their time.

"Daphne, open up!" shouted Derek, his presence there forced, Daphne was sure. Derek was handsome and strong but wouldn't hurt a fly of his own accord, which is why Constance could do whatever she wanted with him, and command his strength to things he normally wouldn't do—like pounding on the door of a 17-year-old girl who only wanted some time alone.

"I'm not going to!" Daphne shouted back in protest, and Constance's voice rose up.

"You will regret this young lady!"

"I know I haven't," said Daphne getting up and standing about three feet from her door, imagining that it was transparent and that she could see the people on the other side struggling to get across the barrier. "I meant every word I said in there."

"Father is not pleased at all with you, he—"

"Don't, Constance," interrupted a feeble voice that Daphne recognized at once as her mother's. "Things should not be handled like this."

The pounding on the door stopped, and Daphne assumed that her mother had glared at Derek, and he had stopped obediently. The girl knew that Derek was there only because Constance had told him to—she genuinely felt sorry for him sometimes, for he was caught up in a life he wouldn't have chosen had he thought more carefully and listened to the advice given to him by his Ravenclaw mates at the time of the wedding. She took a couple of hesitant steps towards the door, straining her ear for any sound. They were whispering on the other end, and Daphne recognized the crisp voice of her sister Delilah, who was a known trickster and hustler.

"One of us should talk with her," she was saying, "and convince her to come downstairs willingly. No matter what Father said these spells are hard to break because they're personal. If she doesn't open the door we're not getting in by force."

"Del is right," Constance said in a low voice, "I'll go."

"You've caused enough trouble already," said their mother firmly.

"Um... maybe _I_ could go?" said Derek with hesitation, although he could guess the answer accurately to the word choices and tone of voice.

"You're not going anywhere," said Constance briskly. End of discussion.

"I will go," said their mother and cleared her throat—all the while they thought that Daphne had not heard a word.

"Daphne," she said a little too loudly, "do you want to talk about it?"

The blond girl thought for a moment, her right hand tracing the doorknob with the tips of her fingers absently. "Only if the others leave," she said in response, playing their game. Her mother was a harmless person anyway—perhaps too harmless for her own good. She was a passive and insecure person that wouldn't speak up for herself or others even if her life depended on it; Daphne always suspected that was one of the reasons her father had married her in the first place.

More whispering.

"Little troublemaker. Who does she think she is?" whispered Constance furiously, and stomped off as quietly as she could in the black high heels that adorned her feet. Derek followed soon, with slow steps that indicated either his being stealth or extremely fearful of his wife's temper.

"She thinks she has control. We'll be waiting downstairs," said Delilah briskly in a low whisper, and soon enough Daphne heard her footsteps draw away from her door. She waited a few moments before waving her wand and muttering a few spells in order to unlock the door and let her mother in—although she knew exactly where the night was headed long before any of the other family members had come up with ideas to deal with tonight's phenomenal outburst.

Her mother appeared as soon as she opened the white door—a frail-looking woman of about 60 years, her long hair a dirty blond that was slightly going gray. She was a beautiful woman in her time, a pureblood Norwegian witch married to Augustus Greengrass by sheer luck of all things, or lack thereof. Her creative nature was a characteristic that was passed down to all of her four daughters, but none looked like her or thought like her more than Daphne. She was the youngest one, the fairest of them all with her short golden hair and her bright blue eyes, her slim figure and her graceful movement. When Freya Anssen-Greengrass, now old, wrinkled and broken inside looked at her daughter Daphne, she could swear that she was seeing herself only 45 years younger.

In silence the old woman walked in and the door clicked shut behind her. No locking spells this time—Daphne felt safe. Freya sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, and patted a spot next to her, beckoning Daphne to sit with her.

The room was large and square and of white and silver and green colours—Daphne's favourite perhaps because she'd been brought up in them. The silver four-poster bed with the gossamer white curtains stood at the centre of one side, diagonally across the door. Behind it stood three large windows, draped with curtains of a dark green colour with silver patterns of flowers and leaves—a Slytherin touch by order of Daphne's father. Further down and to the right, directly across the door, stood a black grand piano, with a few sheets of musical notes upon it and a closed velvet violin case that contained emotions and feelings she could never put in words. The piano stood before the vast balcony opening, a single window 15 feet long that stood gaping in the summer, the glass that separated the room from the balcony now absent. Gossamer curtains billowed gracefully in the summer breeze, and beyond was a wide balcony that looked to the west.

The Greengrass manor was on the top of a hill that overlooked almost the entire area of Wiltshire, where old Wizarding families of high status and pure blood resided in seclusion from the commoners of their own kind—and the vermin they called "Muggles". From her balcony Daphne could see the Malfoy manor, perhaps a mile or two down the hill, warm and full candlelight flickering in the windows. How she hated looking at that manor her entire life, knowing that inside it resided a despicable boy that always bullied her and teased her and yelled at her and wouldn't leave her alone; that same boy had grown to be a young man of low ethics and complete selfishness that was going to be her husband in less than a year. She hadn't really realized it before but as she grew up the moment was getting closer. Why? Why this?

"Tell me why you said those things at dinner," said her mother, patting Daphne at the back sympathetically. Daphne was staring at her lap, at her thin and fair-skinned hands that contrasted so much with the simple black dress she was wearing.

"Mother... I can't marry Draco Malfoy," she breathed out, exhausted, a teardrop drying on her left cheek. "He hates me, and I hate him back. You've forced him on me forever—I don't want to live like this my entire life."

Her mother looked at her sadly, biting her lower lip every now and then as if by habit. "My child," she said, "there's nothing you can do to defy your father's wishes... you know this so well already."

An overwhelming urge to cry took over Daphne's body, and she burst in tears before she could do anything to stop it. _Delilah is free, and you never made Eve do anything against her will—why me? And why don't you do something when you know I'm suffering?_

Freya took her daughter in her arms and let her weep. Unsaid went the words of comfort she wanted to give her—what would it matter if she thought her daughter was right? Her husband didn't care either way. The marriage would come through just like everything else on his agenda; most of her own life had been full of plans and deals and parties and God knows how many acquaintances that Augustus deemed important and useful. If it was in her husband's power, he would have it no other way—and that was the way it always had been. No questions asked, no heads or voices raised. Who dared defy or disobey this authoritative and demanding man of social prestige?

Daphne cried and wept, her tears wetting her mother's embroidered dress. How she needed to tell her mother of her pain, her sorrow, her agony for the future. How could she live under the same roof as Draco Malfoy, the same boy who had burned her hair with a hex when they were eight years old, leaving a scar on her right shoulder-blade that refused to go away even with magic? His words had scarred her childhood, his face was there in every event, be it a birthday party, Christmas, or Halloween; every day they would spend time together because that was all a part of the plan—perhaps to make them fall in love with each other? Daphne laughed sarcastically inside her head. That could never be. Not while that bloody idiot still carried the same annoying face and attitude around.

But it was useless. It wouldn't make a difference if Daphne told her mother about all her thoughts and emotions—nothing would change. She knew Freya didn't have the courage, the strength or even the will to stand up against her husband and defend her daughter's right to a free life, especially when she herself had been nothing more than a pawn her whole life. For a while she just sat there, her face buried against her mother's shoulder, weeping for the freedom that would soon be lost forever.

When her sobbing subsided and her breathing had returned to normal, Daphne slowly raised her head to look into her mother's eyes. "You'll just have to fight on," said her mother, empty words of encouragement that meant nothing now, and would never mean anything. Nevertheless Daphne nodded, trying to smile, and watched her mother stand up and head for the door. "Let's hope your father is not as angry as before," she whispered and quietly left the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

Daphne was dumbfounded although she had known the evening would end up like this. It's just that she expected her mother to actually do something this time... only she didn't. Again. What was she hoping for anyway? For such a thing to happen you need a miracle, and Daphne had long ago made up her mind that there is no such thing as a miracle. Life was just too cruel to allow for glitches like that.

She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in her plush, feather-filled pillows and letting all the tears that hadn't fallen before spill onto the white pillowcases. As sleep started to take over her, with a broken voice she softly sang the words that were burning the inside of her head...

_You speak your mind to me again  
You force your words so deep within  
You try to tell me how to live  
But it's my life..._

In the silence of the night Daphne fell into a dreamless sleep, drawn away from reality for so long as only the sun would allow before the next morning.

----  
**A/N:** The lyrics at the end are from the song "My Life" by 12 Stones.


End file.
